Who would have thought that something as simple as skipping stones could provide hours of entertainment? Certainly not I. Truth be told, before last week the closest I had come to skipping stones was reading a Mark Twain book. But there we were, in a cottage on the beach, with nobody but our family for miles, and endless stones that were ripe for the skipping. Turns out my 6-year-old is somewhat of a stone-skipping-prodigy, if there is such a thing. Time after time, he was able to skip his stones with perfect form, each one going farther than the one before. My 1-year-old got into the act by sitting at the lake’s end and throwing stones that landed approximately 3 inches from his feet. (I’m just waiting for the child care center to call me today to report that he was throwing stones on the playground.) My 3-year-old daughter kept herself busy finding the stones for her brother to skip.
My skills in the stone-skipping arena turn out to be somewhat limited. No matter the size or shape of the stone, the distance from the water, the arc of my arm, I simply can’t do it. Maybe that’s what makes my son’s skill that much more impressive to me and the whole endeavor that much more interesting. Or maybe it was simply hanging out for hours on end with my children on the beach wiling away the hours skipping stones.